The New York City winter comes in cold grey sheets of steel
The numbness in his hands and feet is all that he can feel
Alcohol and sterno turns a doorway to a bed
And the ghost of who he might have been lives on inside his head
In a canyon made of brownstone on a sidewalk icy black
All the wind blows down on Lonely Street like an ice pick through the air
Midst the Sunday times and coffee grinds and wino's in Times Square
Five flights up on Easy Street you know she's safe and warm
Way down low neath a foot of snow he's riding out the storm
I offered him my winter coat politely he refused